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XXVII. « By Heaven, the Moors prevail! the christians yield !- From the dim landscape roll the clouds awayTheir coward leader gives for tlight the sign!
The christians have regaiu'd their heritage;
Before the cross has waned the crescent's ray,
And lofty church, and low-brow'd hermitage.
The genii these of Spain for many an age; Rivers ingulph him!»-« Hush !» in shudilering tone, This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright, The prelate said; « rash prince, yon visiou'd form 's And that was Valour named, this Bigotry was hight. thine own.»XXII.
XXVIII. Just then, a torrent cross'd the flyer's course;
Valour was harness'd like a chief of old, The dangerous ford the kingly likeness tried ; Arm'd at all points, and prompt for knightly gest;, But the deep eddies whelm'd both man and horse, His sword was temper'd in the Ebro cold, Swept like benightcd peasant down the ride;
Morena's eagle-plume adorn'd his crest, And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide, The spoils of Afric's lion bound his breast. As numerous as their native locust band;
Fierce he stepp'd forward, and flung down his gage, Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide,
As if of mortal kind to brave the best. With naked scymilars mete out the land,
Him follow'd his companion, dark and sage, And for their boodsmen base the free-born natives As he, my master, sung, the dangerous Archimage. brand. XXIII.
XXIX. Then rose the grated harem, to inclose
Haughty of heart and brow the warrior came, The loveliest maidens of the christian line;
In look and language proud as proud might be, Then, menials to their misbelieving foes,
Vaunting his lordsbip, lineage, fights, and fame, Castile's young nobles held forbidden wine;
Yet was that bare-foot mook more proud than he. Then, too, the holy cross, salvation's sign,
And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree, By impious hands was from the altar thrown,
So round the loftiest soul bis toils he wound, And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine
And with his spells subdued the fierce and free, Echoed, for holy lymn and organ-tone,
Till ermined Age, and Youth in arms renown'd, The santon's frantic dance, the fakir's gibbering moan. Honouring his scourge and hair-cloth, meekly kiss'd
Flames dart their glare d'er midnight's sable woof, Who ne'er to king or kaisar veil'd his crest,
Victorious still in bull-feast or in fight,
Since first his limbs with mail he did invest,
Nor reason'd of the righi, nor of the wrong,
le curses earth and beaver-himself in chief- And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along, Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven's relief! For he was fierce as brave, and piciless as strong. XXV.
XXXI. That scythe-arm d giant turu'd his fatal glass, Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found world, And twilight on the landscape closed her wings;
That latest sees the sun, or first the morn; Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass,
Still at that wizard's feet their spoils he hurld, -
Ingots of ore, from rich Potosi borne,
Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and foul ; In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flinys,
Idols of gold, from heathen temples torn, And on the land, as evening seem'd to set,
Bedabbled all with blood. With grisly scowl, The imaum's chaunt was heard from mosque or mi- The hermit mark'd the stains, and smiled beneath his
XXXII. So pass'd that pageant. Ere another came,
Then did he bless the offering, and bade make The visionary scene was wrapp'd in smoke,
Tribute to Heaven of gratitude and praise; Whose sulplı'rous wreaths were cross'd by sheets of And at his word the choral lıymns awake, flame;
Avd many a hand the silver censer sways. With every Nash a bolt explosive broke,
But with the incense breath these censers raise, Till Roderick deem'd the fiends had burst their yoke, Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire;
And waved gainst heaven the infernal gonfalone! The groans of prison'd victims mar the lays, For War a new and dreadful language spoke,
And shrieks of agony confound the quire, Never by ancient warrior heard or known;
While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the darken'd scenes Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was her expire.
From a rude isle his ruder lineage came:
The spark, that, from a suburb hovel's hearth
Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth.
And for the soul that bade him waste the earth-
That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth,
And by destruction bids its fame endure,
Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor show'd,
With which she beckon'd him through fight and storin, Lay stretch d, full loth the weight ofarms to brook ; And all he crush'd that cross'd his desperate road, And soften'd Bigotry, upon his book,
Nor thought, nor fear’d, nor look'd on what he trode; Patter'd a task of little good or ill :
Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook,
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad-
It was Ambition bade her terrors wake,
Nor deign'd she, as of yore, a milder form to take.
No longer now she spurn'd at mean revenge,
Or staid her hand for conquer'd foeman's moan,
As when, the fates of aged Rome to change,
By Cæsar's side she cross'd the Rubicon;
Nor joy'd she to bestow the spoils she won,
To war beneath the Youth of Macedon:
No seemly veil her modern minion ask'd,
That prelate mark'd his march-On banners blazed
On cagle-standards and on arms he gazed ;
And thou hast temper'd it with slaughter's flood;
And by a bloody death shall die the man of blood !»–
The ruthless leader beckond from his train,
While trumpets rang, and heralds cried, « CasVeiling the perjured treachery he planud,
tile!» (10) By friendship's zeal aud honour's specious guise, Not that he loved him-No-in no man's weal, Unul he won the passes of the land;
Scarce in his own, e'er joy'd that sullen heart; Then, bursi were honour's oath, and friendship's Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel, ties!
That the poor puppet might perform his part,
But on the natives of that land misused,
Not long the silence of amazement hung,
For, with a common shriek, the general tongue,
And Valour woke, that genius of the land!
Who, placed by fortune on a monarch's throne, As burst the awakening Nazarite his band,
LI. That mimic monarch now cast anxious eye
Then Zaragoza -blighted be the tongue Upon the satraps that begirt him round,
That names thy name without the honour due ! Now doffd his royal robe in act to fly,
For never hath the harp of minstrel rung, And from his brow the diadem unbound.
Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true!
Mine, sap, and bomb, thy shatter'd ruins knew,
Twice from thy half-sack'd streets the foe withdrew, To guard awhile his substituted throne
And when at length stern Fate decreed thy doom, Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own. They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody
tomb. (12) XLVI.
LII. From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung,
Yet raise thy head, sad city! Though in chains, And it was echo'd from Corunna's wall;
Enthrall'd thou canst not be! Arise and claim Stately Seville responsive war-shout flung,
Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns, Grenada caught it in her Moorish hall;
For what thou worshippest !-thy sainted dame, Galicia bade her children fight or fall,
She of the column, honour'd be her name, Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet,
By all, whate'er their creed, who honour love ! Valencia roused her at the battle-call,
And like the sacred reliques of the flame, And foremost still where Valour's sons are met,
That gave some martyr to the bless'd above,
To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove!
Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair! The invaders march, of victory secure ;
Faithful to death thy heroes should be sung, Skilful their force to sever or unite,
Manning the towers while o'er their heads the air And train d alike to vanquish or endure.
Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung; Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure,
Now thicker dark’ning where the mine was sprung, Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow,
Now briefly lighten'd by the cannon's flare, To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure:
Now arch'd with fire-sparks as the bomb was flung, While nought against them bring the unpractised
And redd'ning now with conflagration's glare, foe,
While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare. Save hearts for freedom's cause, and hands for freedom's blow.
While all around was danger, strife, and fear,
While the earth shook, and darken'd was the sky, By one hot field to crown a brief campaign, And wide destruction stunnid the listening ear, As when their eagles, sweeping through the North,
Appall'd the heart, and stupified the eye,Destroy'd at every stoop an ancient reign!
Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry, Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain ;
In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite, In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied,
Whene'er her soul is up, and pulse beats high, New patriot armies started from the slain,
Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight, High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide,(11) and bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be And oft the God of Battles blest the righteous side.
Don Roderick turn d him as the shout grew loudRemain'd their savage waste. With blade and brand,
A varied scene the changeful vision show'd, By day the invaders ravaged hill and dale,
For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud, But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band
A gallant navy slemm'd the billows broad. Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land, From mast and stern St George's symbol flow'd, And claim'd for blood the retribution due,
Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear; Probed the hard heart, and lopp'd the murd'rous hand, Mottling the sea their landward barges rowd, And Dawn, when o'er the scene her beams she threw,
And flash'd the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear, Midst ruins they, had made, the spoilers' corpses knew. And the wild beach return'd the seaman's jovial ch eer. L.
The billows foam'd beneath a thousand oars,
Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite, Still honour'd in defeat as victory!
Legions on legions brightening all the shores. For that sad pageant of events to be,
Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars, Show'd every form of fight by field and flood;
Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum, Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee,
Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours, Beheld, while riding on the tempest-scud,
And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, The waters choak'd with slain, the earth bedrench'd For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean with blood !
Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight,
And meditates his aim the marksman light; Far glance the beams of sabres flashing bright,
Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead, Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night,
Nor the fleet ordnance whirld by rapid steed, That rival's lightning's flash in ruin and in speed.
Since Fate has mark'd futurity her own:
The deeds recorded, and the laurels won,
King, prelate, all the phantasms of my brain,
Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain,
Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown-
And with their deeds of valour deck her crown.
And hers their scorn of death in freedom's cause, Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown,
And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause, And freeborn thoughts, which league the soldier with the laws.
Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave!
And harsher features, and a mien more grave; But ne'er in battle-field throbb'd heart so brave
As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid, And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, .
And level for the charge your arms are laid,
Mingling wild mirth with war's stern minstrelsy,
And moves to death with military glee:
In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known,
And he, yon chieftain-strike the proudest tone
Back to the source, when tempest-chafed to hie!
Shall lush it as a nurse her infant's cry!
And when the torrent shall his voice obey,
Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way,
They close their wings, the symbol of our yoke,
Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock,
While downward on the land his legions press,
And smiled like Eden in her summer dress ;-
III. Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown,
And shall the boastful chief maintain his word, On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze,
Though Heaven hath heard the wailiugs of the land, And hear Corunna wail her battle won,
Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword, And see Busaco's crest with lightning blaze:
Though Britons arm, and Wellington command! But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise?
No! grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs room? An adamantine barrier to his force! And dare her flowers mingle with the bays,
And from its base shall wheel his shatter'd band, That claim a long eternity to bloom
As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse Around the warrior's crest, and o'er the warrior's Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious course.
Yet not because Alcoba's mountain bawk, And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil
Hath on his best and bravest made her food, That hides futurity from anxious hope,
In numbers confident, yon chief shall baulk Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail,
His lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood; Apd painting Europe rousing at the tale
For full in view the promised conquest stood, Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurlid,
And Lisbon's matrons, from their walls, might sum While kindling nations buckle on their mail,
The myriads that had half the world subdued, And Fame, with clarion blast and wings unfurld, And hear the distant thunders of the drum, To freedom and revenge awakes an injured world! That bids the bands of France to storm and havoc
Have seen these wistful myriads eye their prey,
But in the middle path a lion lay!
Nor blaze you fires where meets the manly fight;
Where cowardice and cruelty unite,
To plead at thine imperious master's throne ;
Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine own;
By British skill and valour were outvied ;
And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried-
XII. O triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath!
But ye, the heroes of that well-fought day, Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot,
How shall a bard, unkvowing and unknown, What wanton horrors mark'd their wrackful path!
this meed to each victorious leader pay, The peasant butcher'd in his ruin'd cot,
Or bind on every brow the laurels won? The hoary priest e'en at the altar shot,
Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone, Childhood and age given o'er to sword and flame,
O'er the wide sea to hail CADOGAN brave; Women to infamy ;-no crime forgot,
And he, perchance, the minstrel note might own, By which inventive demons might proclaim
Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave Immortal hale to man, and scorn of God's great name! 'Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic rave. VII.
XII. The rudest sentinel, in Britain born,
Yes! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword, With borror paused to view the havoc done,
To give each chief and every field its fame; Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn, (15) Hark! Albuera thunders BERESFORD,
Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasp'd his gun. And red Barrosa shouts for dauntless GREME! Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful son
O for a verse of tumult and of flame, Exult the debt of sympathy to pay;
Bold as the bursting of their cannon-sound, Riches nor poverty the task shall shun,
To bid the world re-echo, to their fame! Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor the gay,
For never, upon gory battle-ground, Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more worthless With conquest's well-bought wreath were braver victors lay.
crown'd! VII. But thou-unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate,
O who shall grudge him Albuera's bays, Minion of Fortune, now miscall'd in vain?
Who brought a race regenerate to the field, Can vantage-ground no confidence create,
Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise, Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's mountain-chain? Temper'd their headlong rage, their courage steeld,(19) Vain-glorious fugitive!(16) yet turn again!
And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield, Behold, where, named by some prophetic seer,
And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword, Flows Honour's Fountajn' as fore-doom'd the stain And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield
From thy dishonour'd name and arms to clear- Shiver'd my harp, and burst its every chord, Fall'n Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour here! If it forget thy worth, victorious BERESFORD!
Though Gaul's proud legions rolld like mist away, Within whose souls lives not a trace portray'd,
Was half his self-devoted valour shown,Of Talavera, or Mondego's,shore !
He gaged but life on that illustrious day; Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more;
But when he toild those squadrops to array, Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole;
Who fought like Britons in the bloody game, Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour,
Sharper than Polish pike, or assagay, Legion on legion on thy foeman roll,
He braved the shafts of censure and of shame, And weary out his arm--thou canst not quell his soul. And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier's fame. X.
XVI. O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore,
Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to hide Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain,
Bencath the warriors vest affection's wound, And front the flying thunders as they roar,
Whose wish Heaven for his country's weal denied, With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain! (17) Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. And what avails thee that, for CAMERON slain,
From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets sound, Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given-(18) The wanderer went; yet, Caledonia ! still Vengeance and grief gave mountain-rage the rein, Thine was his thought in march and tented ground;
And, at the bloody spear-point headlong driven, Ile dream'd 'mid Alpine cliffs of Athole's hill, Thy despot's giant guards fled like the rack of heaven. And heard in Ebro's oar his Lyndoch's lovely rill.
The literal translation of Fuentes d'Honoro.